A week after the attempted bank robbery, the following large ad runs in all the daily New York papers:

ATTENTION:

THE NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT ASKS FOR THE HELP OF THE FOLLOWING:

--THE HERO KNOWN AS SILVER STREAK

--THE HERO KNOWN AS SCORCH SCALE

--THE HERO KNOWN AS GOODWILL (AND COMPANY, IF DESIRED)

THE N.Y.P.D. ASKS THAT ONE, SOME, OR ALL OF THESE INDIVIDUALS SHOW UP AT THE 28TH PRECINCT
THIS SATURDAY AT 2 P.M.

THERE IS AN URGENT MATTER WITH WHICH WE WOULD APPRECIATE YOUR ASSISTANCE

It's signed by the Police Commissioner and the Mayor.

But if it's urgent, why wait until Saturday? One supposes one can ask that when one shows up...

It did seem like an odd way to communicate to Saul, but then he realized he hadn't exactly set up a system yet faster then snail mail and a particular bin he checked before he did a run as Scorch Scale. Maybe he should set something alternative up...
But this was besides the real concern, that the mayor and commissioner both wanted with them. They assumed at least some of the heroes had lives outside of hero work. So possible identities could be suspected...

No, he had to go, if nothing else, but because if they were called for, the task at hand would be dangerous indeed.
Plus who was Goodwill and their company they kept?

All of these things, Saul would have to find out when he got there, hiding his bag underneath a nearby large garbage bin. He put on the draconic mask and a set of plain clothing (in case his power ever ceased somehow, a concern he learned newly from observing Echo) before he transforms. "There's only one way to find out what caused such an unconventional summons." He muttered to himself as he left the alleyway towards the meet up point.

"Wouldya look at this, Scraps?" Gil said, folding the Times backwards to put the page of interest on top. "The police — the police and the mayor — want to meet us and some other hero-types."

Their loft was a converted warehouse space, and currently devoid of almost all furniture. Gil's voice echoed in a way that sharply reminded him of how much he missed his home in Nebraska. This kind of living space was apparently supposed to be the next big thing in the 'SoHo' neighborhood. But for the moment it just felt barren and lonely. The loft was easily as big as the house he'd grown up in, but with only him instead of three generations of the Woods family. Well, him and Scraps, of course. Scraps seemed to love the huge, cavernous space that had been donated to them as living space when he announced his move to New York City. The landlord kept calling it Gil's 'Headquarters' or 'Base of Operations.' That was just too wild for Gil to process yet.

"What do you think, boy? We gotta go, right?"

Scraps had been chasing dust fairies, dancing around in the sunlight that spilled through the huge windows.
The dust fairies were awesome; they floated about in the spacious, open air, dancing about the light before flying off into the darkness.
Scraps barked playfully at them, and tried catching them by leaping about like a rabbit.

When Gil spoke, Scraps turned to give him all his attention, in a way only a dog can really do.
Then, he bounded forward ... his tail thwapping the dust fairies in his wake as he joined Gil.

He loved Gil.  He loved it when Gil talked to him.
He was so excited, in fact, that he barked his joy, and tried to leap up into Gil’s lap.

Jim puts the paper down and scratches his chin. 2pm was coimg up soon, and this was probably worth checking out. In moments he was changed and out the door. He left a little early, circling the station just to be safe - call it old habit. The Silver Streak may get along well with the boys in blue, but Jim knew firsthand that wasn't always the case.